


From mandrake hooch to the long-sought cure

by embeer2004



Series: A vampire, his blood-brother and his witcher [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Drama, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Protective!Geralt, Protective!Regis, The Witcher 2 Spoilers, The Witcher 3 Spoilers, Witcher 3 dropped game plot, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Geralt and Regis spend a last night outside near Dillingen before departing for their southern homes. Who knew a hunt for mandrake roots in the night and two little balls of light floating near the water’s edge would lead to various perilous encounters? Certainly Geralt had not expected to see Iorveth’s Scoia’tael unit this far west. Why had the elves left Vergen?





	From mandrake hooch to the long-sought cure

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same head-canon as my two other fics, though you don’t need to read those to understand this one.  
> In short (slight spoilers for the fics though): It has been fourteen months since Regis had returned home to Nazair with Dettlaff, where Regis is trying to help Dettlaff and rehabilitate him so that one day he may be amongst humans again. It’s been six months since Regis had last seen Geralt, travelling up north to Novigrad for Dandelion’s wedding. Detttlaff had actually handled Regis’ temporary absence pretty well and this encouraged the vampire to meet up with his friends in person, instead of only staying in contact via letters. Dettlaff, while not fond of Regis’ human friends, realises they’re his blood-brother’s pack and as such would not hinder Regis in reaching out to them. Just so long as they didn’t come to Nazair.

Geralt was enjoying a quiet evening, drinking with Regis underneath the clear sky and sampling some of the vampire’s well-made mandrake cordials. The particulars of the root really did make a clear difference to the finished product in both their opinions and they’d started comparing this particular batch with the one they’d shared nearly a year ago in the Mere-Lachaiselongue cemetery. Regis was also comparing the batch to the one he’d drank at Dandelion’s wedding, though Geralt would have to take him on his word for it, not having drank any alcohol around that time himself due to his little incident with the Leshen.  
  
They’d set up camp a bit south of Dillingen and the Yaruga, wanting to spend the warm summer night outside instead of in a cramped inn. They’d said their farewells to Dandelion and Zoltan, who had earlier both travelled south from Novigrad to meet up with the pair for a fortnight. This time all four of them had made a mutual concession of travelling towards this city, but Geralt was thinking that next time he would invite them all for a nice long stay at Corvo Bianco.  
  
Roach was happily grazing nearby and Geralt was glad that he could trust the mare not to stray too far away and come for when called. When she was not grazing she seemed to be following some critters and Geralt could have sworn the mare was trying to play tag with a squirrel. He could be seeing things though; the witcher had lost count on how many shots of Regis’ mandrake hooch he’d consumed. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision. The world around him seemed to be swirling a bit, moving up and down and to the side. “Hnnng.”  
  
Regis looked up at him, black eyes glinting in the firelight while late dusk was slowly being replaced by full night. A gibbous moon was already high up in the sky. Geralt’s own eyes were likely shiny golden orbs to Regis, due to his tapetum lucidum. The vampire pointed a finger at him, in lecture mode. “Did you know, Geralt, that actually one of the crucial ingredients in distilling madrake cordial… is time? It’s immensely crucial in gentling the flavours out of the bitter root. Humans tend to distil at too hot temperatures, in essence, thereby destroying the aromatic flavours. No, instead the temperature needs to be a bit lower and the overall process of making excellent hooch is therefore quite a bit longer, but, my dearest Geralt, the end result is certainly worth it.”  
  
Geralt snorted as his mind was drawn back to a wedding celebration several years ago; the conversation of gingerbread baking and the image of flowery crowns and a smirking face that looked kind and jovial if one didn’t know better. He lifted his bottle to his mouth to drown out the memory and frowned, shaking the bottle and holding it upside down. _Emtpy._ “Regis…” he held out his arm towards his friend, his hand making a grabby motion, “more hooch?”  
  
Regis smiled fondly at him, fangs clearly peeking out from between his lips. The vampire picked up the flask next to his own feet and frowned himself. “Unfortunately not, my friend. I fear all the mandrake is gone.”  
  
Geralt slapped a palm over his face and dragged it down, slowly drawling out his words. “Let’s… get some more. For your next batch.”  
  
“Ah splendid proposition! Let’s indeed!” Regis stood up and went over to his satchel, still surprisingly steady in his walk for a vampire who’d been drinking mandrake hooch for hours. “Ah, here it is.” Regis walked up to Geralt. “Mandrake root, as you know, is highly toxic, even to you witchers. These gloves and mask should protect you from any harm while picking them. Be sure to put them on when you find a suitable root.”  
  
Geralt pocketed the protective materials and got up from his perch. Out of reflex he grabbed his sword and scabbards and put them on his back, over his comfortable tunic. His armour was stored in one of Roach’ saddlebags, he wouldn’t need it, not this night. He was on a quest, a very important quest: getting Regis some quality mandrake so his friend could work some more of his magic and deliver some incredible alcohol the next time they met up.  
  
Regis and Geralt walked some distance west, the river on their right side, a sloping hill on their left. Regis grasped his shoulder strap in his hand, his other hand drumming a near silent rhythm on his satchel, looking out for any roots.  
  
All of a sudden Geralt saw a small round of light hovering just above the ground. He blinked. Still there. “Regis? You see that?” he mumbled, a bit more alert.  
  
Regis looked back at him, following the direction his eyes were looking at. “Ah, a will o’ the wisp, I believe you call it?”  
  
“Should follow it.” Geralt moved in its direction, but was held back by his friend.  
  
Regis looked at him, unimpressed. “I believe I remember you telling me once that these little creatures have in their sole desires the purpose of leading night-time wayfarers astray. Best not follow this one then, lest we ourselves become its hapless victims.”  
  
Geralt grabbed Regis’ elbow and tried to pull the vampire with him. “Nooo Regis. Last time I met one it led me to this remarkable find!”  
  
“And tell me friend, where did you come upon this remarkable find?” The vampire refused to budge.  
  
“The land of The Thousand Fables. There was this prince, from another country and…” Geralt stilled, remembering exactly how he had found that prince. “Perhaps you are right, Regis.” He looked up and saw the little ball of light circling around, coming back from the water to disappear between the trees on his left.  
  
Geralt started paying attention to his surroundings again, eyes on the ground in search of the elusive mandrake when all of a sudden two balls of light appeared from the trees and floated towards him, swirling circles around him and up, making him a bit dizzy and causing him to lose his balance. He waved his hands, hoping to swat the pesky lights and encourage them to leave him alone.  
  
He saw the little balls of light move towards Regis just before he himself fell down the hilly slope, free-falling some metres before making a sudden stop. His head struck the ground hard. He was only a bit dazed though, feeling sobered up from the harsh shock of adrenaline, but he didn’t have much time before he heard the sounds…  
  
There was a rustling in the bushes. A clacking and scuttling sound. Geralt looked up and saw something that could have been the offspring between a spider and a cockroach. A kikimore warrior. That meant that there was a nest nearby. A queen… and worse, workers. The insectoid stood up on its hind legs for a moment, its jaws clicking before it spat a stream of caustic venom at Geralt and hunched down in preparation of a leap towards him.  
  
Geralt shielded his face in the crook of his elbow, meanwhile grabbing his silver sword from his back. His potions were still at the camp, but igni and the sword should work just fine. He only hoped he would be gone and up the slope again before more kikimores joined the party.  
  
The kikimore venom hit his arm and Geralt heard a sizzling as the caustic spit burned through his tunic and skin. It hurt and Geralt could feel a slight fire in his veins, but the injury was minor and would heal soon enough. He was too late to avoid the kikimore from landing harshly against him, its needle-like fangs trying to clamp around his throat. Geralt curled his fingers and shot a blast of igni at the warrior.  
  
The insectoid leapt away from Geralt, gnashing its jaws. It shook itself like a wet dog in an effort to try and put out the flames. Its back legs lifted from the floor and rubbed over each other before the kikimore started rushing at him.  
  
_Oh no.  
  
_ Geralt could hear dozens of scuttling feet and clacking jaws. The witcher would really like to know how exactly these insectoids communicated with each other so he could prevent one from calling for reinforcements. He prepared to strike the kikimore with his sword, but before the creature could reach him or spit again a figure was in front of him, slashing at the warrior until it fell limply to the ground. _Regis._ His friend had shifted to his vampiric form, claws and fangs elongated, pointed ears and flattened nose clearly visible.  
  
Another sound reached Geralt’s ears. He couldn’t describe it as anything else than ‘gooey sucking’. He glanced at the sky and noticed it had just passed from late dusk into night. A hideous purple plant shot up from the ground, looking like a mixture between a sundew and a beast’s jaws. In between its stem was the skeleton of a victim long ago killed by a crime so horrible it had offended the gods. _A cursed archespore._  
  
Geralt prepared to fire an igni at the archespore when he was leapt at by two kikimore workers. He managed to dodge, barely preventing the smaller insectoids from clamping onto his leg and biting it. He was not looking forward to his toxicity levels shooting up through the roof because of their venom.  
  
“Urgh!” Regis grunted. Geralt turned and saw his friend reaching for his back and ripping something free from it while a kikimore bit him in his ankle, making use of the distraction. _An archespore thorn._ What effect would its poison have on a higher vampire? And the kikimore venom? Geralt hoped none.  
  
Geralt quenned up and fired an igni at the archespore, keeping a steady stream of fire aimed at the cursed plant until it was destroyed. Meanwhile Regis was keeping the kikimores away from his back, slashing at the creatures as they neared. With a final slash the archespore screeched its last wail and slumped lifelessly to the ground. Geralt had no time to even nod in satisfaction, blasting a kikimore worker just in time with an aard when it leapt for him.  
  
“Ge- geralt! Something’s wrong!” Regis voice panted behind him. “I feel-” a grunt interrupted his friend’s words.  
  
Looking back Geralt saw that his friend was hunched over, with a clawed hand to his chest and a bemused look on his face. Then, accompanied by the sound of bones crushing and Regis’ pained gasps, his friend shifted to his full vampiric bat form and his clothes shredded with the change, his shoulder bag snapping loose and falling to the ground.  
  
In the meantime the kikimore workers had scuttled closer, not concerned with Regis’ change. Inhaling a deep breath, Geralt started lashing out at the insectoids, throwing in an igni here and there while figuring out how best to get himself and Regis out of here. His friend seemed to be dazed, head lolling to the ground but struggling to stay lifted up. Geralt had to protect Regis and get him to a safe place, get them both to a safe place.  
  
All of a sudden a rain of arrows appeared from the trees, piercing through the worker’s bodies. The arrows were tipped with feather fletching with a very distinct pattern. _Scoia’tael._ Within a moment all the kikimores were dead, leaving only him and Regis. Another arrow shot from out of the trees and it would have hit Regis in the chest had the vampire not shifted to the left. Instead, the arrow caught him in the delicate membrane of his right wing.  
  
The vampire released a wheezy screech and Geralt stood in front of him, back towards his friend and hands held out along his sides, trying to shield Regis the best he could. _“Don’t shoot!”_ He shouted in Elvish. _“We mean you no harm!”_  
  
A familiar figure appeared from the trees, an arrow notched to his bow, prepared. Seeing the figure, dressed in the donkey jacket, the looted armour and the red bandana covering the right side of his face, brought a smile to Geralt’s lips. “Iorveth!” He lowered his arms and started towards the elf.  
  
Iorveth had a calculating look in his eye, but he slowly lowered his bow, walking up towards Geralt, reaching out an arm for a warrior’s grip.  
  
The moment the elf stepped a foot forward Regis jumped over Geralt and knocked Iorveth on his back. Taloned feet caught the elf around his torso and started to squeeze, piercing the donkey jacket, and the vampire prepared to tighten his hold further until he’d punctured the elf’s body. Iorveth’s hand reached towards one of his blades.  
  
“No! He’s my friend!” Geralt shouted, though at which of his two friends he didn’t actually care.  
  
Regis turned towards him, letting go of Iorveth, and butted his head against Geralt’s chest, softly chittering at him. Geralt more felt than saw a large bat wing come up from his right side and wrap him in a warm cocoon, before trying to move him behind Regis' furry hulking figure.  
  
“Gwynbleidd, what in the devil is this beast?” Iorveth sat up, looking at them, hand still gripping the pommel of his sheathed blade.  
  
Regis turned his head around towards the harsh voice, further pushing Geralt back behind him and started hissing and snarling at the elf. He puffed himself up, hackles raised, while his mouth was open and dripping saliva, fangs showing.  
  
Iorveth’s eye was attentively following their movements and the elf lifted a hand in a sign telling his archers to hold fire.  
  
Geralt reached out to Regis from within his cocoon. “Hey, it’s all right. They didn’t mean to hurt you. The elves don’t know you’re not a threat to them. Come on now, dear friend, calm down.” Geralt kept on his soothing litany of words, though Regis’ behaviour didn’t change. Geralt moved his hand up to Regis’ face and moved slowly, letting his friend see what he was doing. Then he started gently stroking the surprisingly soft fur on Regis’ cheek.  
  
A wet tongue darted from the stumped muzzle, licking at Geralt’s temple where the witcher just knew a dark bruise was forming from when he hit the ground earlier. He patiently waited until Regis was finished and tilted his head back to get a good look at his friend’s face. He’d never seen Regis’ bat like appearance this close up, it was quite different from his vampiric form. There was some slight similarity of his stumped nose/snout with its U-shaped grooves, but the blood gutter in his lower lip was certainly a new appearance.  
  
Regis sniffed, his nose finding the patch on Geralt’s arm that had been burnt by the kikimore venom. Before his friend could start licking this hurt as well Geralt shifted his hand to Regis’ muzzle and started stroking Regis’ cheek and ears in slow repetitive movements with his other hand, all the while mumbling a soothing litany of nonsense at his friend. After a moment Regis lowered himself and stopped his hackled posturing, though he did use his muzzle and wing to nudge Geralt to his other side, further away from Iorveth and the elves hidden in the trees while keeping his uninjured side to the perceived threat, ready to lash out.  
  
Geralt allowed himself to be moved, but only enough so that he could actually step out of Regis’ left wing and move to his right, examining the arrow still lodged in the delicate membrane. He really wanted to remove it from his friend’s wing. Higher up on the same shoulder a clump of matted fur stuck out, covered in a sticky substance. Geralt glanced back towards Iorveth. “Was there poison on the arrow?”  
  
Iorveth shook his head. “Not this time.”  
  
Geralt nodded and carefully grabbed a hold of the arrow, breaking it off just above Regis’ wing and pushing it further through the membrane until it was out, seeing the membrane knit back before his eyes until there was no sign of ever having been a wound. “There, the nasty piece of wood’s gone.”  
  
Iorveth slowly got back on his feet, keeping a wary eye on Regis. “Gwynbleidd, I know there are larger animals and monsters in the south, but I’ve never seen a bat this big.”  
  
Regis turned towards Iorveth and started hissing and chittering. _So far for calming him down._ His friend moved in preparation of lift-off, a move Geralt had seen once a long time ago, and the witcher intervened before Regis attacked and squashed Iorveth, shredding him to bits when the elf had been sufficiently tenderised.  
  
Geralt grabbed his stumped muzzle and drew it back to force those black eyes, that now held a reddish tinge, onto his own. “Regis, no! He’s a friend.”  
  
The Scoia’tael leader scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “The beast has a name?”  
  
Both Geralt and Regis gave him the stink eye. Geralt pressed down on Regis’ muzzle to keep him where he was.“This _beast_ is a dear friend of mine. Similar to how Saskia is dear to you.”  
  
Iorveth uncrossed his arms and fiddled with an emblem on his belt. “This dragon looks a bit like a big murder bat if you ask me vatt'ghern.”  
  
“Really? From where I’m standing he’s like a cute cuddly fluffy bat, though admittedly with a slightly bad temper. Bet you wouldn’t be too happy either if you first get hit by an archespore thorn and then get bitten by a kikimore before getting pierced by an arrow. What can I say? He’s had a bad night.” Geralt lightened the weight of his hand from Regis’ muzzle and started stroking the soft ridges. Tiny squeaky whimpers reverberated from his friend’s throat. “He shouldn’t be like this though, it’s not full moon out so it’s more difficult for him, but we’re all lucky Regis seems to maintain some of his cognisance, seems to know who I am, otherwise I fear he’d feast on us all and start up his drinking again. He’d be so disappointed with himself when he’d returned back to normal. Not to mention heart-broken.”  
  
Iorveth raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Speak plainly Gwynbleidd.”  
  
“What? Don’t like it when it’s you elves who are forced to deal with riddles?” Geralt was actually amused by this. “If you’d like, I could start speaking in explicit detail using flowery prose instead, though my friend here is really the one that excels at that.”  
  
Regis turned his head towards Geralt’s shoulder and snarled softly, eyes boring into the elf’s single green one while sniffing the air with short little whuffles. Geralt unconsciously moved his hand up to back behind his ear and started softly stroking. “Calm down, Regis. Iorveth’s a friend, stop threatening him. Can you turn back to your human shape?”  
  
Regis released a big breath before slumping down, taking care not to land on top of Geralt. Nothing, no change…  
  
“Gwynbleidd, if I may suggest something?” Iorveth looked behind Geralt, at Regis. “Get the venom off of your friend’s leg and shoulder, I’m sure you can also see and smell the traces of it clinging to him. Perhaps it will help?” The elf whistled and a red-headed elf appeared from the tree line, carrying a waterskin.  
  
Geralt took it and started washing the venom off of his friend, making sure to keep himself between Regis and Iorveth. When he was done Regis perked up and his nose twitched once before he jumped into the air. Geralt grunted out a gasp when his friend grabbed him around the waist with taloned feet, being oh so careful not to squeeze too hard or scratch, before flying off… back towards their camp.  
  
The witcher heard Iorveth curse before telling his men to follow at a distance and when he looked back he could see that the elf had started following them.  
  
~*~  
  
When they arrived back at their camp Regis carefully set Geralt back down before landing on the ground himself in a graceless stumble. He heard a horse whinny in fright, but he didn’t care about that. He’d felt fire burning through his veins and his skin felt like lightening.  
  
“Regis, really? That was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Geralt held out his arms, palms upwards.  
  
Regis couldn’t prevent a loud screech from escaping his throat as he focused on changing back to his human shape. He could feel his skin start to _bubble_ and shift, his bones felt like they were breaking and realigning one by one as he returned to his more usual shape. Ever since the will o’ the wisps had started swirling around him and he’d followed Geralt down the slope he’d felt a bit off. He was only now starting to feel more like his usual self.  
  
Geralt moved towards their saddlebags and rummaged around a bit, retrieving Regis’ extra clothes and walking up to him, holding out the garments and a pair of soft slippers. “Regis? You all right now?”  
  
With shaking hands Regis grabbed the leggings and put them on, followed by a long sleeved tunic. He set the slippers aside, content to walk around barefoot for now. He jerkily nodded at his friend, feeling a bit embarrassed. He remembered everything that had happened, though he couldn’t influence his actions while in his vampiric bat form. Geralt had smelled like _safe_ and _pack_ and something he must protect from the elven threat.  
  
“Really starting to worry me here, old friend. You, being quiet? Pigs are flying somewhere.” Geralt reached out to him and adjusted his tunic, pulling it further down. Grey veins stood out on the witcher’s skin from his encounter with the kikimore venom.  
  
Regis smiled, lightly batting his hand away. “Thank you for your intervention. I apologise for my inadequacy in retaining mastery of my self-composure. I shall endeavour to implement an increased control over my theriomorphic form and behaviour.”  
  
Geralt cupped his cheek and tilted his face up, forcing Regis to look him in the eyes. There was a sad smile on his friend’s face. “Your theriomorphic form and behaviour aren’t the things that worry me. Do you feel any lingering effects from the venom? How do you feel?”  
  
A corner on Regis’ mouth lifted, but he took care to hide his fangs. “Only a bit embarrassed, my friend. I managed to overcome the confounding state which was imposed on my intellect, as well as the resulting carnal instinct that subsequently substituted my habitual cerebrations. I am, as you would say, in full possession of my own wits again.” He perked up, hearing footsteps approach; he was certain Geralt heard them too.  
  
A moment later the elf from before appeared at their little camp. “Gwynbleidd! There you are!” The Scoia’tael leader had come alone, though Regis could hear breathing somewhere further in the distance, Iorveth’s unit was waiting for a command. “Are you all right?”  
  
Geralt stood up and placed himself between Iorveth and Regis. “I’m fine, wasn’t in any danger.”  
  
Iorveth snorted. “Indeed, how silly of me to think anything may have happened to you when I saw you being carried off by an enormous and ill-tempered bat.” The elf’s eye quickly looked around their little camp, taking in their belongings, before turning to a narrow squint while focusing on Regis. “You must be Regis, Gwynbleidd’s furry dragon. Feeling better I hope?”  
  
Regis couldn’t help himself. He laughed at his new monniker. “Yes, thank you for your considerate inquiry. I am indeed feeling much improved and I apologise for my earlier behaviour.”  
  
Iorveth nodded. “A friend of Gwynbleidd is a friend of mine, though I would appreciate it if there was no repeat of the incident back there. If you would satisfy my curiosity though, what exactly are you? I have never seen anything like you.”  
  
Regis looked away. “It’s personal. Let’s just say I am capable of shifting shapes and leave it at that.” No need to worry the elf by informing him of his true nature.  
  
The elf’s eye narrowed, but luckily he just nodded. “Keep your secret, furry dragon. In times like these that may be the wiser choice when you’re not human.”  
  
Regis could hear something in his voice. While Iorveth’s voice came out as a harsh drawl there actually was something behind it that made Regis feel like a kindred spirit. He walked over to Geralt and grabbed the witcher’s chin, gently turning his head to the side to investigate the bruise on his temple. “Do you have any trouble with your vision? How’s your head?”  
  
Geralt shook his head. “Fine, bruised, but not concussed.”  
  
Regis reached for his arm with the venom burn, carefully supporting his upper arm and wrist to stabilise the limb while examining the damaged skin on his forearm and elbow. The vampire worriedly bit his lip for a moment and his nose twitched. It smelled like burnt acid. He released his hold on his friend’s arm, walked over to their packs and retrieved a waterskin, rummaging around in Geralt’s potions pouch until he’d found some clean bandages. “It’s luck that those kikimores didn’t manage to do more damage what with you without your potions and not wearing any amour.”  
  
The witcher nodded his head towards their pallets in an invitation for Iorveth to join them. “What brings you out here so far from Vergen, Iorveth?” He sat down next to the small fire and added a few more branches.  
  
When Regis returned he only had to raise an eyebrow before Geralt obediently lifted his arm out to him, allowing the barber surgeon to clean the injury before bandaging it.  
  
Iorveth scowled and his jaw clenched, but he sat down opposite to Geralt and Regis. “The Catriona plague. A group of dwarves brought it in with them when they entered Vergen and by the time we realised they were suffering from the plague it was too late. The infection is razing through the village and killing human and non-human alike. Damn those Nilfgaardians!”  
  
Regis focused on Geralt and saw his friend was frozen in place, shocked. “How’s Yarpen? Skalen?”  
  
The elf shook his head.  
  
Geralt balled the hand in his lap into a fist, holding his injured arm steady to allow Regis to finish tying the bandage. When the vampire was finished Geralt dropped his other hand to his lap as well, fingers clenching and unclenching rhythmically. His friend let out a harsh breath and shook his head. “Skalen was so young still, his beard hadn’t even reached his belt.”  
  
“Saskia was trying to hold it all together, quarantining Vergen and letting no one in or out, but how is that going to work? What they, what we need – is a cure,” Iorveth starts moving nervously, “so just before the quarantine started I gathered my unit and departed west, towards Novigrad. Once there I found Triss and she helped me in our search.”  
  
Geralt blinked. “When was this?”  
  
Iorveth took of his gloves and reached his hands out towards the fire. “Six years ago, just before the witch hunters turned rabid.”  
  
A pale eyebrow lifted. “She never mentioned seeing you.”  
  
The elf shrugged and a sneer appeared on his lips. Regis noticed missing teeth where the scar peeked out from under his bandana and wondered at the extent of the scars the elf kept hidden. The bandana was covering nearly the entire right side of his face, so the injury had affected his eye there as well. “I can imagine she was a bit busy at the time with arranging getting the mages out of the city.”  
  
Geralt stared into the fire. “Hnnn. She did it, she got out of Novigrad safe and in one piece. Herself and the mages.”  
  
Iorveth’s face smoothed and he nodded. “Good for her.”  
  
“After all these years you have still not returned to Vergen. Can I deduce from this that your search has proved to be an arduous endeavour?” Regis’ curiosity was peaked and he wanted to know more about the elf’s quest.  
  
The elf’s shoulders slumped. “Our beloved Triss Merigold managed to obtain a name for me of a man who may have been able to help. A rogue Nilfgaardian scientist called Hector Kraft Ebbing, known as Martin. My unit and I have travelled nearly the entire Northen Kingdoms in search of this man, following rumours of the presence of a demon summoner that left bloodshed in its wake. We kept an ear out, listening of stories telling of humans or non-humans disappearing and turning up as botched vivisections and emptied-out corpses. No sight of the man himself though.”  
  
Regis put a hand in front of his mouth, swallowing hard. His stomach was squeezing unpleasantly. “This is the man you seek for aid? If that is the trail you follow I cannot help but wonder whether it is a fortunate happenstance on your side that you and your unit did not encounter such a monster.”  
  
Iorveth hit the ground next to him, hard, and glared at him. “We had no choice! This Martin was working on a cure! We could have convinced him to work with us, for us!”  
  
Regis lowered his head slightly and held up his hands, palms outwards to the elf.  
  
Geralt leaned in towards Iorveth. “What happened? No sight of the man, are you still looking after all these years?”  
  
Iorveth breathed loudly before standing up in a swift move. The elf balled his hands and walked toward the edge of their little camp. “Oh, eventually we found him. Hanging on a gibbet alongside one of the roads in Velen. The bastard!”  
  
Geralt stood up as well and slowly moved up to the Scoia’tael leader, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. “What did you do next?”  
  
Armoured shoulders sagged down in defeat. “I tried to search for Merigold, but she has disappeared. We started travelling across the kingdoms, arranging obscure meetings with scientists, but they either bit off more than they could chew, ended up sick and died from their own experiments, or promised to help and then tried to betray us to Nilfgaard; that did not end well for them.” Iorveth caressed his bow and turned around, meeting Geralt’s eyes. “One time we stumbled upon the remains of an elven city. We went through an orange portal and ended up inside a huge lab with a library full of information. Proof that our forebears were wise and accomplished, yet all their stored knowledge wasn’t enough. We searched the place for weeks, nothing! Not anything of use to bring back with us! It’s been years! Vergen has been silent! No word, no letter. I believe Saskia is all right, but all of Vergen’s citizens could be long dead by now! The elves! ”  
  
Geralt kept a hold of Iorveth’s shoulder. “Could still be a chance some of them live. Quarantine back in Vizima kept the outbreak contained, Saskia could have managed to contain the outbreak in Vergen. You know she’d have the citizen’s lives foremost in mind and would try to find a way to obtain the best possible outcome.”  
  
Iorveth looked away and towards the fire, his gaze far away. “Sometimes I wonder why it all even matters? The mortals will die anyway and we elves grow old and sterile. We’re all basically dying races. My unit’s searching for a cure that does not exist in an effort to delay the inevitable. I’m tired Gwynbleidd, just damned tired.” The elf’s eye closed for a moment and his hand reached out to one of the emblems sewn onto his belt, fondling a fabric picturing Temerian lilies.  
  
Regis felt a pang in his own chest and he stood up, walking over to stand just beside Geralt. “Exhaustion and desolation are often the marks of the hero, setting out on a long journey and floundering and toiling thanklessly for many years without any recognition for their hardships. Yet still you are out here, searching for a cure instead of drowning your sorrows with alcohol and sullying your mind with fisttech and this in itself is praiseworthy. You’re trying to do good, walking the path of the hero. You haven’t given up, no matter what you yourself believe to be true.”  
  
Iorveth’s smiled crookedly and his gaze met Regis’ own. “You were right, Gwynbleidd, your furry dragon is indeed far superior to you when it comes to verbose and flowery speech.”  
  
Geralt cocked his head and his gaze turned inward, a thoughtful look on his face. “You know, I know a sorceress who was interested in the Catriona plague. Met her six years ago in Midcopse, invited her over to Kaer Morhen later to help out…”  
  
Iorveth looked up, trying to meet Geralt’s gaze. “Who?”  
  
Cat-like eyes focused on a single green one. “Keira Metz.”  
  
Regis’ eyebrows lifted. “If I am not mistaken she was a member of the Lodge. A highly dangerous and fickle young sorceress if I remember correctly.”  
  
Geralt nodded. “Yes, that’s her. When I met up with her six years ago she was desperate to stay out of the hands of the witch hunters, hiding away as a witch in Midcopse. Had a run in with a plague maiden because of her.”  
  
Iorveth moved his shoulder, dislodging Geralt’s hand before walking away and crossing his arms over his chest. “To the point, vatt'ghern.”  
  
Geralt rolled his eyes. “She was looking for one Alexander’s notes on the Catriona plague, thinking with them she could barter for her life with Radovid. Convinced her to travel to Kaer Morhen instead.” The witcher smiled at Regis, a soft gleam appeared in his gaze. “She ended up saving Lambert’s life and the two are now living their own happily ever after. She still had the notes when they left Kaer Morhen, I believe she’s working on finding a cure.”  
  
Regis smiled at his friend, his mouth opening slightly. “Would you happen to know where they are?”  
  
Geralt nodded. “Last I heard they intended to go to Attre. Can always travel there and have a look, not too far out.”  
  
Iorveth’s eye squinted to a slit. “If she’s a dangerous and fickle sorceress you’ll have to excuse me from not jumping in joy and delight at the prospect of going with you.”  
  
Geralt held up his hand. “She’s been through much, she’s changed. I bet Lambert’s been a great influence as well. You don’t need to worry about her as long as you don’t do anything to antagonise her.”  
  
Iorveth huffed and Regis made himself taller, reaching for a shoulder strap before remembering he wasn’t carrying his bag. “Well I’ll be very interested in meeting her. As a barber surgeon with interest in medical accomplishments myself I would be most delighted in having the opportunity to speak with this sorceress!”  
  
Geralt nodded. “Travelling to Attre in the morning then. Iorveth, you may want to notify your unit, we’ll be leaving at dawn.”  
  
The Scoia’tael leader slightly bowed his head before silently departing. Regis noticed the light that had appeared in the elf’s eye. _Hope._ The elf may have believed to have given up himself, but there it was. “Interesting fellow, this Iorveth. Tell me, Geralt, how did you become friends with such a surly Aen Seidhe?”  
  
Geralt held up a hand, palm out and let out a short whistle, calling for Roach. “Let me make sure Roach is all right, our entrance scared her off and I’d rather not she wander down into a kikimore nest.”  
  
Luckily the gentle mare appeared quickly, though she was still a bit skittish. Her head bobbed up and down and she stomped a hoof on the floor, her tail pressed close to her body. Regis calmly walked up to her. Unintentionally frightening Roach had unfortunately occurred several times before, so he knew just how to approach her and calm her down, stroking her neck and her ears in a way that always calmed her down quickly. “There we are dear girl, nothing to be afraid of anymore…”  Geralt didn’t interfere and Regis knew it was because the witcher both trusted him to handle it and because his friend thought it was good when Roach and Regis worked on bonding after a scare.  
  
While Regis gentled Roach, Geralt sat down and leaned back against the fallen log they’d been using as a bench and started telling him the story of the king slayers, his encounter with Roche and the Blue Stripes and their subsequent trip to Flotsam, where he had turned up just in time. Meeting Iorveth and fighting a kayran together with a sorceress, and after encountering Letho, confronted with his final choice, which had resulted in him travelling to Vergen with a prickly Scoia’tael leader and rescuing a dragon.  
  
Regis listened intently and when Geralt had finished his story the vampire turned thoughtful, pondering how choices made could have such an impact on the future. It made him think of Dettlaff, back home in Nazair; he would forever be grateful to Geralt for his decision a little more than one year ago.  
  
After the story the fire slowly flickered out and the witcher and the vampire settled down for rest. Tomorrow they would set out to find Keira Metz. Regis wondered how far the sorceress had gotten using Alexander’s notes. He’d travel with Geralt and Iorveth and meet her. Perhaps if she needed a bit of help he could try and aid her in her research, though he wouldn’t stay too long. His pack was waiting for him back home and Dettlaff, though the younger vampire pretended to be fine, still needed him.  
  
~*~  
  
At dawn, Regis and Geralt were greeted by Iorveth and his unit. Geralt had packed most of their belongings in Roach’ saddlebags and prepared the mare for their journey. They’d be walking on foot to Attre since the Scoia’tael unit had no horses, but Regis was sure they would arrive well within two days, not too much of a detour of his way back to Nazair.  
  
The elves were a bit hesitant to come close to Regis, but Iorveth had rolled his eyes at them and told them to man up before clapping his hand to Regis’ shoulder and, to his surprise, handing him his shoulder bag.  
  
“Feeling all calm today, Draig Gwallt? What do you estimate your chances to be of a setback?”  
  
Regis hesitantly patted the elf’s arm and released a breath through his nose, wondering how he should reply.  
  
“Well if there’s a setback and I’m not around, consider yourself screwed Iorveth.” Geralt butted in, lightly slapping the Scoia’tael leader on his arm. “No, not screwed: squashed, tenderised and ripped to bits, that’s more apt. Perhaps even when I _am_ around. Not even your entire unit can harm him, so all in all it’s best not to antagonise my ‘furry dragon’.”  
  
The look on Iorveth’s face was full of disbelief and his visible eyebrow crawled higher up on his forehead. The elf turned his gaze on Regis, a silent question in his gaze.  
  
Regis shrugged and grasped the strap of his shoulder bag before starting to walk. Geralt followed him on foot, Roach calmly walking beside him without having to be led. The gentle mare listened excellently to vocal commands. The elves followed behind them…  
  
~*~  
  
As the vampire expected, it took them slightly less than two days to reach Attre, the Scoia’tael being primarily silent travelling companions, except for a word or a question here and there. Iorveth had a determined glint in his eye, his hope renewed.  
  
Regis certainly made up for the silences, used to silent and taciturn companions and capable of holding entire conversations on his own. He also managed to get the full story out of Geralt of his adventure on Fyke Isle and the choices he’d made related to a certain sorceress.  
  
When they’d finally seen the city of Attre looming in the distance Iorveth had shaken his head and held up his hand, halting his unit. “We shall not enter the city, at least not yet. We draw too much attention. Gwynbleidd,  Draig Gwallt, you two must enter and find the sorceress. When you’ve found her, report back and let us know.”  
  
That the Scoia’tael leader was used to giving orders was apparent and Regis’ eyebrows lifted in amusement, wondering how Geralt would take the order.  
  
“Stay here,” Geralt grunted, “we’ll come back once we’ve found them. Take care of Roach while we’re gone.”  
  
Regis followed Geralt into the city, where they first sought out the local tavern. Taverns and inns were always one of the best places to search when looking for someone. The barkeepers  and servants were usually well aware of all the juicy gossip and happenings going on in the city around them.  
  
They went into a tavern called the Burping Buck and Regis noticed Geralt’s eyes sweeping over the patrons inside before moving over to the barkeep. “Greetings.”  
  
The barkeep’s arms crossed his chest, eyes roving over the witcher before glancing toward Regis. “We don’t want any trouble.”  
  
Geralt’s eyebrow lifted. “Not looking for any, though I am looking for a friend, a witcher. Same eyes, short black hair, scar and a sour look usually on his face. Travelling with a blonde woman.”  
  
The barkeep’s uncrossed his arms, releasing a relieved sigh. “Lambert and Keira, right? Yeah, I know the two, what do you want with them?”  
  
“Looking for meeting up with my brother, I haven’t seen him in years, we used to be so close before I moved to the south.” Regis had to suppress a laugh at the sorrowful look the witcher was putting on his face and the tale he was spinning, stated a bit more emotional, but not untrue.  
  
The barkeep scoffed. “Yeah I think the man would definitely appreciate his brother coming for a visit. These last few week’s he’s been coming in more often, wallowing about how his love only has time for her work lately and hardly any attentions for him. Told him he could just visit a few houses down to the Bountiful Bust brothel, but that resulted in him flipping over his table and destroying my property.” The man squinted his eyes. “He’s a good customer though and he’s helped me out with a mamune problem a while back, saved my business. He’s good folk and while I like that he’s been coming more often I’d prefer it if he didn’t destroy the establishment, even if he did pay for the damages. That sourpuss is starting to become a friend so if you could help him out with his lady troubles that would be swell.”  
  
Geralt stood stock still, his mouth opening and closing a few times without a word coming out.  
  
Regis moved a bit closer to the barkeep. “My good man, if you’d be so kind as to tell us where we may find our dear Lambert and his lady we would be much obliged.”  
  
The man nodded. “Go out through the door, turn right, follow the road until you see a mill. From there, take a left and walk all the way until you see a house with a winged snake in front. That’s them. When you’ve sorted out that mess I’ll even give you a round of drinks on the house.”  
  
Geralt still wasn’t speaking and the witcher only nodded his head before leaving the tavern.  
  
Once outside Regis looked at his friend. There was so much confusion in his gaze. “Geralt? What’s the matter, dear friend?”  
  
Geralt looked at him. “Lambert… making friends, human friends. Settling down…”  
  
Regis clapped him on the shoulder. “Just like another witcher that I have the pleasure of being acquainted with. Let’s follow the barkeep’s directions and make sure we shall find what we expect before going back to Iorveth and his Scoia’tael.”  
  
The two friends quickly followed the path leading up to supposedly Lambert and Keira’s house. Geralt knocked on the door once they arrived and waited for someone to open. There was a high pitched squeal coming from inside and both Regis and Geralt tensed. The witched knocked again, this time with more force. “Hello there, Lambert? Keira? Open up!”  
  
Within a couple of seconds the door opened, revealing Lambert with a grin on his face. One of his arms was wrapped around Keira, who was excitedly beaming at her lover.  
  
“Well, news certainly travels quick,” Lambert drawled, “you’re like a devil coming for a fulfilled contract. Who knew you letting my lady take Alexander’s notes would lead to this joyful moment, huh?”  
  
A smile appeared on Geralt’s face before his golden cat-like eyes focused on the sorceress. “You found the cure?”  
  
Keira composed herself, straightening up and pushing a strand of hair beneath her ear. “I most certainly did. It took me nearly six years and an immense amount of effort, but just now I’ve been able to confirm the effectiveness of a vaccine I have been creating.”  
  
“If you would be so kind, lady Keira. If what you say is true you have achieved what no man or woman has managed to achieve in all these years. Your dedication to the topic is certainly admirable and Geralt and I would love to hear how you managed this. First though, we’d like to introduce you to a friend who is waiting outside the gates.”  
  
Geralt smiled wryly. “Yeah, Iorveth’s going to be very interested in your cure and its application. We’ll go out and fetch him and his unit, be right back!”  
  
As Regis walked alongside Geralt to the waiting Scoia’tael the vampire couldn’t prevent a fanged smile from appearing on his face. Iorveth indeed was going to be happy and the hope that had recently started gleaming from his eye wouldn’t be extinguished. The elves could finally return to Vergen with good news and a cure.  
  
It wasn’t just Vergen though, the entire world was going to be saved. Regis smiled, all because of a decision his dear friend Geralt had made. A decision that had allowed for this to happen.  
  
**The end**

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve mixed the concept of archespores as they appeared in the Witcher games 1 and 3 and played around a bit with the concept of will o’ the wisps and the effect they could unleash on a powerful higher vampire, resulting in Regis becoming susceptible to some of the venom – the resulting adrenaline burst he got from it and the perceived threat to Geralt made him change into his bat form.  
> And I was so saddened that Iorveth wasn’t in Witcher 3 nor any of the DLCs, that elf really grew on me in Witcher 2. Reading about the dropped plot really made me want him to be out there, and I really wanted him and Regis to meet, but couldn’t figure out the how for the longest time. This is my version of it… ,’) Hope you enjoyed!


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